


Beg for It

by Make_It_Worse



Series: Brat Tamer [13]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM Scene, Bad Parent Amanda (Detroit: Become Human), Bdsm etiquette, Begging, Bondage, Bondage and Discipline, Bottom Connor, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Has a Praise Kink, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Is a Brat, Connor's shame kink, Creepy Elijah Kamski, Discipline, Dom Hank Anderson, Dom/sub, Dominance, Family Drama, Family Issues, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Negotiation, Love, M/M, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Play, Orgasm Delay, Overstimulation, Parent Amanda (Detroit: Become Human), Pet Names, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Predicament Bondage, Protective Hank Anderson, Spreader Bars, Stress Relief, Submission, Suspension, There is one teardrop worth of plot, Top Hank Anderson, full gremlin, it's complicated - Freeform, they are in so much love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 22:23:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20937725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Make_It_Worse/pseuds/Make_It_Worse
Summary: This is part of an ongoing D/s series. Heed the tags.Part 13.__A wrench in their bliss, headbutting with family, and troubles at work. There might be a smidge of plot if you squint.





	Beg for It

Connor’s breathing had returned to normal and the thin sheen of sweat had long since dried. Even as a shiver snakes up his spine, he isn’t ready to move just yet. He isn’t surprised when Anderson drapes a midnight blue blanket over him, plush and warm

When he opens his eyes several minutes later, he sees Anderson standing in front of their closet in pinstriped boxers, his hair damp and dripping on the floor. Rolling to his side, Anderson’s head turns a fraction in Connor’s direction when he hears him move, “Feeling better?”

A small smile twitches at the corner of Connor’s lips, “Much.”

Connor hadn’t meant to be such a spastic terror, but their impending dinner with his mother had wormed its way into his head until he was completely distracted, speaking out of turn, and being a general menace during class.

Anderson had eyed him hard from across the room and all of the saliva in Connor’s mouth evaporated under that stern gaze. He knew he was making a messy situation worse every time he snapped at a student for no reason or interrupted Anderson to argue a point. He didn’t seem able to stop himself until Anderson’s steady, cold glare reminded him bad behavior almost always had consequences when it came to his fiancé.

Anderson had been silent on the drive home and Connor’s guts slithered with too much worried anticipation to attempt small talk. He wasn’t surprised when Anderson called from the bedroom, “Connor, come here please.”

_Polite_, Connor had thought, _always so polite. _Connor felt it was absurd anytime he reached this state of panic. When not trapped in his own head tighter than bark to a tree, he appreciated Anderson’s calm and courteous approach.

He had tried to banish the sullen expression from his face before opening the door.

He had tried to school his thoughts so as not to lash out or interrupt.

He had tried to remind himself that dinner with his mother was entirely his idea.

Even so, he was barely more than two steps into the room when his mouth shot off ahead of him, “I just find it funny that—”

Whatever snotty remark Connor had been about to spew vanished into the press of Anderson’s mouth on his. So intent on unleashing venom, Connor’s brain couldn’t catch up to what was going on around him. Air punched from his lungs when his back had collided against the wall, Anderson’s hands in his hair and his chest pressing against Connor seemingly from all sides.

It was a kiss that commanded his full attention, demanded his submission, and Connor had complied with a whimper and returned embrace.

“You need to relax, sweetheart,” Anderson had growled against his ear, pressing his hips firmly against Connor’s own.

“I’m sorry,” Connor had nearly sobbed the words as Anderson palmed at his confused erection.

Anderson’s nose nudged at his jaw, encouraging Connor to tilt his head and give him better access. Teeth grazed lightly over his jugular and Anderson’s lips whispered over his skin, “Can you be good for me?”

If Connor had had any resistance left in him at all, it melted along with his knees at the question. Twining his arms around Anderson’s neck, he nodded with a soft, “Yes, sir.”

It wasn’t fancy or involved. There were no restraints or toys. It would have been a simple, straightforward handjob were it not for Anderson’s mouth murmuring a constant torrent of filth liberally peppered with praise.

_…make you moan, make you beg…_

_… so good to touch…_

_…claim you, own you; make you mine…_

_…sing for me, sweetheart. I want to hear you scream…_

Holding his gaze, Connor had convulsed when Anderson’s mouth formed the words _I love you_. He saw them more than heard them as the sound of rushing blood and his roaring heartbeat flooded his ears. It wasn’t until Anderson had wrung the last drop of his release from his spent dick that he realized he was crying.

Anderson’s clean hand had found his cheek, “Overwhelmed?”

Connor shook his head, “I’m alright.” Anderson had given him a skeptical look, firmly swiping at a tear to underscore his question. Turning into Anderson’s palm, he pressed a kiss to the center of it, equal parts affection and reassurance, “Really, Hank. I’m wonderful.”

Anderson held his gaze for another moment before dropping his hand. By the time Anderson had finished cleaning them up, Connor had fallen into a light doze. Carding a hand through Connor’s hair, he’d given him a fond look before tiptoeing to the shower. He hadn’t slept well the night before and needed the rest.

Connor rises from the bed and the blanket droops down one naked shoulder, “I thought you were mad at me.”

Anderson gives an easy shrug, “I had the advantage of knowing what was bothering you.” Connor mumbles something indistinct, but the word _mother_ is quite clear.

Crossing the room with two ties in hand, Anderson holds them out for Connor’s opinion. Connor taps the light blue one made of silk, “It goes best with the charcoal.” Anderson resists the urge to smile. He knows the dark grey suit is Connor’s favorite on him and he’d given him options accordingly.

Connor rises to dress as well and Anderson waits until he’s presentable to tug him close by his simple black tie. Pressing a kiss just to the left of his mouth, Anderson steps back to survey his fiancé, “Everything will be fine, Connor.”

They’re at Amanda’s residence less than ten minutes before Niles declares, “Well, this is a complete disaster.”

Connor shoots a glare at his brother before hissing, “Shut _up_.”

Niles rolls his eyes, impervious to his brother’s venom “She hates him, Connor.”

“I’d appreciate it if you refrained from speaking about me as if I am a piece of furniture that can’t understand speech.” Anderson’s tone is light even if Connor recognizes the undercurrent of warning. Anderson won’t start a fight, but he won’t take disrespect sitting down either.

“Fine,” Niles’ eyes gleam and Connor has to resist the urge to lunge across the table to clap a hand over his brother’s mouth. He knows that look. Niles is out for blood, “She hates you. There, is it better when I say it to your face?”

The only thing keeping Connor in his seat is Anderson’s fingers loosely entwined with his own. “Have you lost your mind?” The question is heavy with disbelief and betrayal. It’s clear that Connor expected his brother to be in his corner in this matter.

“Last month, you couldn’t even tell me if you were in a committed relationship or not and now you’re getting married?” Connor’s eyes dart to Anderson before pushing back against his brother’s gross exaggeration of their one and only serious conversation about Connor’s relationship with Anderson.

“I told you, we value our privacy. I don’t have t—”

“No,” Niles interrupts, leaning in to look squarely at Anderson, “_he_ values _his_ privacy. I haven’t seen or heard any evidence whatsoever that he has your best interests in mind.”

Connor has to resist the urge to smack his head repeatedly against a wall. A retort is on the tip of his tongue when their mother glides back into the room bearing a tray heavy with tea, delicate saucers, and other accoutrements.

“Connor, darling,” she addresses him without looking at him, “there’s someone on the phone for you.”

Anderson feels Connor’s palm grow clammy, “Why would anyone be calling for me here?”

Anderson sees the small twitch of irritation in Amanda’s face. He immediately recognizes the trait marking her as an individual that expects immediate, unquestioning obedience. The realization weighs on the corners of his mouth.

She finishes pouring her tea before addressing her son, “They did not share the details with me, but I believe your employer is attempting to reach you.” The planes of Connor’s body grow even more rigid at the mention of Cyberlife, leaving Anderson baffled. He understands Connor’s tension regarding his mother. There’s no reason for him to panic about a simple call from work.

Amanda resumes speaking, snatching at Anderson’s attention, “Sweet of you to list me as your emergency contact.” Her gaze settles coolly on Anderson, “Shouldn’t that honor be reserved for your fiancé?” There is no mistaking the ice in her words; Anderson’s eyes never waver.

When Connor doesn’t answer and continues to remain frozen in place, Amanda forces the issue, “You can take it in the kitchen, dear. You shouldn’t keep them waiting. It’s quite rude.”

Connor rises as if on autopilot and Anderson’s frown deepens. Following Connor with his eyes, he almost misses the question, “Sugar, Hank?”

Stowing his concern for the time being, he turns his attention back to keeping the evening from completely going off the tracks, “Honey if you have it, Amanda.” She gives him a smile comprised of too many teeth and not enough warmth before holding out a fat little jar filled halfway with viscous gold.

“So tell me, Hank,” Amanda says with a delicate stirring of her spoon, “When did your interest in my son transcend that of teacher and student?”

Anderson resists the urge to pinch at his nose. The evening thus far had been a game of Amanda lobbing loaded questions and Connor frantically trying to run interference before any could make their mark.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Amanda,” Anderson begins and he can see both mother and son lean in with great interest. Anderson fights down a smile; some people were too predictable, “but I’m also not going to dignify questions you’ve already decided the answers to. You’ve clearly made up your mind about me; there isn’t anything I can say to sway you otherwise.”

Niles snorts out a noise that sounds a great deal like _Ha_ before covering it with an unconvincing cough. Even if Niles wasn’t Anderson’s biggest fan, Amanda clearly put him through the same type of meddling that she did Connor. He appreciated Anderson’s candor and steadfastness in the face of Amanda’s best-laid jabs.

To her credit, Amanda’s mask of careful control remains in place. She takes a delicate sip before inclining her head once, “I see.”

The silence that follows is frigid and unwelcoming. Niles shifts in his seat numerous times and almost rises on more than one occasion as if considering a full retreat.

After regarding Anderson with open contempt for one long minute, her lips part in a portent of speech when movement catches Anderson’s eye. Connor walks back into the room, more panicked than ever and far too pale. With her back to the door, Amanda has to turn to see what snatched Anderson’s interest from whatever she was about to say.

“Connor, dear?” Anderson hears the note of genuine concern even if she doesn’t move to approach him. Anderson’s wicker chair screeches against tile and he’s halfway to his fiancé before the words are out of Amanda’s mouth.

Connor’s eyes are wild yet strangely empty. Anderson doesn’t scare easily, but the vacant fear on Connor’s face sends a tremor of disquiet up his spine.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” Anderson keeps his voice low in a facsimile of privacy as he cups Connor’s cheek in his hand.

Trying to reach his gaze, Connor’s eyes rise slowly as if drugged, “I’ve been fired.”

“_What?_” Amanda’s voice cracks sharp and sterile as surgical instruments.

“For fraternization,” his lips don’t seem to want to move even as the words come tumbling out.

Anderson stares at him in shocked confusion, “That doesn’t make any sense. The university doesn’t have any rules against employees—”

Connor interrupts, an uncharacteristic action, “Cyberlife does.”

Anderson’s brows furrow into harsher valleys, “I’m not a Cyberlife employee.”

Connor’s eyes grow damp and shine violently, “The s-school…contracts with Cyberlife. It’s—they said—oh god.” Connor crumples and Anderson pulls him close in an instinctive shield.

“It will be okay, Connor,” he says softly into his hair. He has no evidence to support his theory yet, but Anderson is certain something else is at play. He feels the missing pieces of this puzzle keenly, but this is not the place for a deeper discussion.

“Oh, will it?” Amanda’s voice thunders like a malediction, “Am I to understand that you’re the reason for my son’s abrupt insolvency?”

Connor presses his face more firmly into Anderson’s chest and Anderson has to exhale on a slow five count before speaking, “Thank you for inviting us to dinner, Amanda, but we will need a rain check. As you’re aware, Connor and I have a pressing concern to see to. I’m afraid we have to cut this evening short.”

Amanda makes a sound like a shocked goldfish before following them down the hall. Anderson is helping Connor into his coat by the time she reaches them with Niles following behind her. If Anderson could spare attention for Connor’s sibling, he’d note the peculiar shift of interest on his face.

“I asked you a question, Hank,” Amanda’s posture demands an answer as much as her tone.

Shouldering into his jacket, Anderson meets her gaze, “A rude question. Connor is a grown man and soon to be my husband. I assure you, we can handle personal difficulties.” The words _without you_ remain unspoken but Amanda flinches all the same, clearly dismissed.

Her hand darts out toward his forearm with a surprisingly strong grip, “Hank.” Anderson can hear the plea in voice and he sighs. She may have less maternal warmth than a parasitic wasp, but she’s still Connor’s mother.

“Amanda, I promise you, we will take care of it.” Her eyes dart from Anderson’s arm wrapped supportively around Connor’s waist to the fierceness of his gaze. She reads his meaning loud and clear: _ I will take care of your son_.

Realizing that Anderson is no more likely to allow Connor’s career to crash and burn than she is, Amanda’s cool mask slides back into place. Even so, her tone is a touch less rigid, “See that you do.” She reaches out for Connor’s hand and gives it a delicate squeeze before opening the door for them.

An hour passes before Anderson has Connor comfortable enough to discuss whatever chaos had gone down over the phone in his mother’s kitchen. Toeing the door to their bedroom closed behind him, Anderson extends a hot mug of cocoa in Connor’s direction before sitting down opposite of him.

One knee folds across the mattress as he waits for Connor to take a steadying sip, “Connor, what’s going on?”

He doesn’t want to outright accuse him of hiding something, but he can’t produce a logical explanation for this situation. Their relationship has been public for an absurdly long time. Connor’s employer using it as grounds for termination now smells of rot.

His heart sinks when Connor’s eyes refuse to meet his. He stares at his cocoa and Anderson stares at the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

When it becomes clear that Connor is frozen in some mental loop, Anderson straightens his spine and adopts a stern tone, “Connor, look at me.”

Connor’s eyes snap to his and Anderson relaxes a fraction, “I want to help you, but I need you to talk to me.”

The fear in Connor’s eyes hits Anderson hard when he realizes Connor is worried about how Anderson will react, “When you and I…when we weren’t…”

Connor’s weak attempt to start putters out and Anderson prompts him, working off vague suspicions, “When we weren’t together.”

Connor nods, “I spent most of my time at work. I didn’t have many friends—didn’t want them. Not like I do in Detroit. It was easier to throw myself into work than to think about us.” Connor lapses into silence once more, taking deeper pulls from his mug.

Eventually, he finds his voice again, “My boss—my boss’ boss actually—was always checking in on my projects. I thought it was professional interest at first, but then he started inviting me out for drinks.”

Connor pauses and Anderson motions for his to continue, “I had a few too many one night. I had called you and got your voicemail again. You weren’t answering my texts either and I—” Connor breaks off to run his hand over his face as if he can wipe away stress, “He bought me a lot of drinks, I lost track. He offered to give me a ride home. I thought he was just being nice.”

Anderson can feel a horrible coldness grips his lungs at the expression on Connor’s face. He’s on the verge of gently nudging him back into speech when Connor says flatly, “He followed me into my apartment. Tried to kiss me—” Connor’s voice severs abruptly like a speaker with cut wires. Anderson hadn’t moved or spoken, but his expression cleaves at Connor’s core.

In one panicked motion, Connor rockets across the bed. The half-full mug clatters to the floor as his hands find the lapels of Anderson’s suit jacket. The cocoa bleeds across the gleaming hardwoods.

“Nothing happened,” Connor breathes the words and Anderson’s face remains terrifying blank. His hands rest limply at his sides. Connor wishes he’d hold him. He settles for pressing his forehead to Anderson’s, “I told him to leave and requested the transfer to Detroit. You have to believe me.”

His voice slants sharply upward, threatening to break. It shakes Anderson from his angry introspection, realizing Connor needs him in the present and not inside his own head. Stress bleeds from the taut line of Connor’s spine into Anderson’s hands as he moves to embrace him, “I do, Connor. I do.”

It takes the better part of an hour for Anderson to sort out the details. Connor’s ability to discuss his employment situation ebbs and flows as certain details are harder to discuss than others are. By the end, he knows enough to piece together what happened. He also knows he wants to fistfight Connor’s clown of a boss.

Once he’s certain Connor is asleep, he steps out of the room to begin the first steps of damage control. Moving to the old rotary phone he had refurbished for nostalgia, he dials one of two numbers he knows by heart.

The line clicks after the second ring, “This had better be good, Hank.” Jeff’s grumpy voice crackles over the receiver.

“Sorry to call so late, Jeff. We’ve got a problem.” Anderson gives him a quick rundown of what he knows as well as what he suspects.

“And you know this for sure, Hank?” Jeff had been on the force longer than Anderson had before retiring and taking up the academia mantle; he could read through the lines.

“Most of it. As for proof? Call it a strong hunch. Guys like that almost always leave a trail.” If Jeff refuses, Anderson won’t blame him. It’s a big ask and he has other connections. Still, he trusts Fowler and would rather work with him.

“Hank, the shit you manage to get yourself into,” he sighs loudly and Anderson angles the phone away from his head, “Fine. I’ll look into it.”

Anderson’s shoulders relax a few degrees as tension uncoils, “Thanks, Jeff. I owe you one.”

“You owe me several,” Jeff quips back, but his tone is light, “besides, I’m not making any promises. If he’s as greasy a bastard as you say, we may not be able to do much. We don’t wear the badge anymore, you know?” Anderson makes a sound of understanding before moving to end the conversation.

“Oh, and Hank?” Anderson pulls the phone back to his ear, “Congratulations.”

A genuine smile spreads across his face. Even in the thick of it, the fact that Connor is wearing his ring can’t fail to make his heart hum with satisfaction, “Thanks, Jeff.”

The next several days pass in a slow melancholy for Connor. With no job and no motivation to look for a new one yet, he spends the majority of his days moping and staring with unseeing eyes at several of Anderson’s books.

When Friday rolls around, Anderson comes home early to find Connor asleep on the couch. Smacking him lightly in the head with the mail, Connor snorts awake, disgruntled and disoriented, “Th’ hell? Sir?”

As Connor struggles into consciousness, Anderson’s good mood swells to bursting at the slip-up. When taking Connor apart, when he became most desperate, he’d often lose composure and call Anderson by his name. It anchored him and helped remind him he was in control. When dazed or sleepy, he fell into what was most comfortable. The sleepy _sirs_ are among the dozens of things Anderson loves about Connor.

“I take it you haven’t seen the news,” Anderson remarks casually, shooing Connor into a sitting position to give him enough room to sit as well.

“You know I haven’t,” Connor grumbles, ill-tempered at his abrupt awakening. Anderson ignores the snark and presses the TV into life with the remote. Immediately, Elijah Kamski’s face and the Cyberlife logo fill the screen.

“Reporting to you live from outside Cyberlife Tower—” the reporter rambles on in the sensational way that is the wont of the news. Anderson’s eyes follow the scrolling marquee, waiting for it to register in Connor’s mind.

_Cyberlife CEO Steps Down_

_Tech CEO Resigns to Avoid Scandal_

_Harassment and Blackmail—More at 11_

Connor rises to press his fingers to the screen in awe, “What did you do?” His voice is heavy with confusion, triumph, and a good bit of hope.

“Phoned a friend,” Anderson remarks casually. “Scum like Kamski are vain; they leave evidence of their perfidy everywhere they go. They think they’re untouchable.”

Connor nods, “It’s why I never…I thought about going to HR, but…holy shit. Look at all those lawyers.” Anderson had already seen the footage; the news had had hold of the story for over an hour by this point and they were starting to repeat themselves for lack of new information. This particular loop showed a harried-looking Kamski surrounded by suits as they burst through the veritable mob surrounding Cyberlife tower wanting to hear what Kamski had to say for himself.

“Elijah, is it true you planted cameras in your staff’s offices?”

“Mr. Kamski, what do you have to say about the reports of sexual advances and punitive punishments for employees who turn you down?”

“Hey, Eli—”

Anderson mutes the screen and Connor turns to look at him, “But how did you get someone inside?”

“Your brother, actually,” Anderson’s mouth goes thin. Niles had thawed considerably after seeing Anderson stand firm by Connor’s side in the midst of disaster. He’d warmed to him even more when Anderson had asked him to patch him through to his boyfriend. Even if Niles had changed his tune, Anderson hadn’t been comfortable relying on him for aid.

“The detective he’s dating?” Connor asks, confused. “But he’s up here…Elijah is in Texas…How? What? I—” Connor turns back to the screen trying to pull meaning from what he’s seeing.

“The power of networking,” Anderson quips back, amused. “It pays to know cops that are still on the force. Even annoying ones like Reed.”

“He smells,” Connor replies without thinking, his attention absorbed by the screen. Anderson huffs out a laugh through his nose.

“That he does. Even so, the whole thing would’ve gone belly up if it wasn’t for an informant on the inside. My gut was right. I figured you weren’t the first subordinate Kamski had tried to strong arm. A woman named—”

“Chloe,” Connor supplies before Anderson can finish.

He frowns, mildly annoyed by the interruption, but more so by the withheld information, “You knew?”

Connor shrugs, “Not for sure. Kamski was always friendly with her. About a month after I showed up, she suddenly started avoiding me as if I had a communicable disease. Kamski no longer crowed her praises, either. Then he started dropping by my office more often. Once he came onto me and got…aggressive, I put it together. I saw the same signs.”

The happy balloon in Anderson’s chest at ousting the asshole interfering with Connor’s career deflates slightly. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Connor, but he had years of prior experience as a cop that made him wary of predators like Elijah, “And he didn’t force—Didn’t…” he hesitates on several words, not certain which fits the context best, “He didn’t hurt you?”

Connor turns to meet his gaze and there is a fierceness there that makes Anderson’s heart stutter. He crosses the room in four long-legged strides before drawing Anderson into a heavy kiss.

By the time he pulls away, a fire blazes in Connor’s eyes that’s almost difficult to look at directly. It’s affection, appreciation, and unfettered, pure adoration, “He tried his best, but he couldn’t touch me. Not with you by my side. _Thank you_.”

“Well, he did fire you,” Anderson points out and Connor scowls up at him. Pulling him impossibly close, Anderson presses his lips to Connor’s forehead. He’s certain this much emotion in one day will ruin him, but it’s worth it to see Connor get his shine back. “Jeff is still working out the details, but you’ll be gainfully employed again soon enough through the university. Although, you’ll likely have a different title and you’ll have to give up your fancy office at Cyberlife.”

Connor snorts, “Texas can keep it.” He grows quiet for a minute, resting his head on Anderson’s shoulder. Connor’s fingers toy with the ends of Anderson’s hair as he begins to sway gently from side to side. It’s not quite a dance; it’s infinitely more tender and fragile.

The third time Connor sighs, Anderson shimmies the shoulder Connor is using as a headrest, “Penny for your thoughts.”

“Are you mad at me?” Anderson’s brows knit in confusion at the unexpected question and he ceases their rocking. He sees a tremor shiver across Connor’s face as if he’s steeling himself. His voice comes out quiet and low, “Have I been bad?” A heatwave of understanding blossoms into existence before pooling low in Anderson’s gut when he realizes what Connor’s after.

It had been a hellish week for him and without the chaos to consume the focus of his frustrations, he was looking for an outlet. Anderson was more than willing to fill the gap.

Dragging his blunt nails up Connor’s scalp, his fingers tangle into dark curls in slight need of a trim. “Baby doll,” he tugs lightly to take in the gorgeous flush creeping up Connor’s neck at the use of the endearment, “you don’t know the half of it.”

In truth, Anderson had been more than moderately frustrated with the situation. It hadn’t been any of his business when the trouble first began. He and Connor weren’t together then and Anderson had no say. However, Connor’s struggles with Kamski had clearly been ongoing. In his fitful explanation the week prior, Anderson had gathered that Kamski harassed Connor every time he returned to Texas, asking him if he was still seeing “the crusty old professor,” and if he wanted to reconsider Elijah’s numerous offers.

He didn’t intend to take Connor to task for the infraction. Not so soon, anyway. He had been distraught, there were very real-life consequences at stake, and Anderson wasn’t so beastly as to pile reprimands on top of Connor while his world was already buckling under the weight of excess stress.

But Connor seeking out discipline was another matter altogether. The answering tightness in his pants betrayed only a small portion of Anderson’s delight. Connor’s willingness to submit, his desire for Anderson to wreck him, and his trust that he will rebuild him are nearly overwhelming.

“Would you like to try something new?” Anderson purrs against Connor’s ear. They’d recently made several purchases and he’d been itching for an occasion to try them out. He expects Connor to ask for reassurances or to mention limits; he could become skittish trying new things even when Anderson confined himself to pre-agreed upon parameters for play.

His surprise at Connor’s firm, “Yes,” is short-lived.

“Bedroom,” he growls with a swat to Connor’s right buttock. He yelps in surprise before reaching for Anderson’s hand, tugging him along.

Connor hesitates at the threshold of the door; he knows the moment he steps over it, the scene is on in full force. He turns to face Anderson head-on, his eyes dark and serious, “I love you. More than anything.”

Anderson lifts the hand gripping his and drops a kiss to Connor’s knuckles. Before he can reply, Connor’s mouth is on his, hot and humid in a presage of what’s to come. He presses his head to Anderson’s for a brief moment, eyes closed, before stepping back into the room, “How do you want me?”

It took a little more time than usual to set up given that some of the equipment was new. The spreader bar was familiar, and Connor’s dick had dribble an embarrassing amount when Anderson widened his stance to that of someone begging to be fucked. They had used the ceiling hooks in the past, but never quite like this.

With his arms stretched high and wide in a mirror of his legs, his skin buzzes in anticipation. Every feather-soft touch, every not so accidental brush, sings along his skin like electricity. By the time Anderson finishes tightening the restraints, Connor finds himself on tiptoe. He can rest flatfooted, if necessary, but—

A soft sound races up his esophagus the instant Anderson attaches the clamps. He’d seen them dangling from the ceiling, but he hadn’t considered, hadn’t realized.

“You’re in quite the predicament, sweetheart.” Anderson’s thumb brushes over a pink bud trapped in the nipple clamp. Gauging Connor’s reaction, he tugs on one of the chains lightly, watching the rosy nipple rise with the motion.

_Fuck_. He whispers it, but Anderson hears him all the same. On his toes, they don’t bite even if they’re taut. The moment he tries to rest, though…

Connor presses his heels to the floor and the results of the experiment are instantaneous, “Haa!”

He bolts back to his toes and Anderson grins. Anderson plucks at the tip protruding from the clamp, and Connor whines as he croons, “No rest for the wicked.”

His feet shift as he attempts to find a stance that’s easier to maintain, but the bar braced between his legs makes it impossible. It takes less than minutes for Anderson to unravel Connor into a whimpering mess.

His hand slides gently along the length of Connor’s straining erection, spreading a pearl of precome over the flushed tip. Connor whines as his calves begin to fail him and he has to choose between the ache in his legs or the pinch surrounding his pert nipples standing at attention. Anderson waits for Connor’s resolve to break; he knows it won’t be long.

By the fifth bob of his heels in half a minute, Anderson knows he’s got him.

“Sir, please,” there’s no shame in his voice as he begs for relief. Anderson kisses him gently, tweaking at a sensitive bud. He swallows down Connor’s whimper greedily.

_Please_.

It comes out so soft and sweet and wrecked that Anderson almost considers granting the request. The darker side of his nature preens at denying him.

“Look at you,” Anderson drags a finger down Connor’s taut ribcage, watching him pant, “trussed up so prettily for me like a gift.”

“Sir, I can’t. I—fuck!” Anderson stroking him firmly ruins his concentration and his knees begin to shake with the effort of staying on his toes.

“Quite the dilemma, isn’t it?” Anderson drawls, amused, “Wouldn’t it be nice if there was someone you could turn to when you need help?”

Connor’s eyes fly wide to meet Anderson’s gaze, realizing for the first time what he walked into, “Sir?”

Anderson knows Connor is trying to buy time, to collect himself, but the naked vulnerability on his face pulls a layer of softness to the forefront. Palming Connor’s cheek, Anderson’s words wash over him like a balm, “I’d give you anything, but you have to _ask_. I don’t know you’re in trouble if you don’t tell me.” 

Holding his gaze he waits for Connor’s confirmation that he understands before moving to fiddle with the restraints. The reprieve Connor expects doesn’t come. Instead, he finds himself forced further into his toes with no give to rest. A panicked whine escapes his chest before disappearing into a garbled shout as Anderson tugs on the clamps once more.

Connor can feel his control slipping and the urge to tap surfaces for the first time when Anderson’s hands bracket his ribcage, “Connor.” Wild amber eyes meet a cool, collected azure stare as Anderson rumbles, “Ask for my help if you need it.”

“Please,” Connor gasps out the words in quiet desperation, “I need you. Please, let me down.” Anderson gives him a faint, fond smile and Connor flushes hideously.

Circling around him, Connor hears the clinking of restraints but no relief reaches his legs.

“Hank!” Anderson recognizes it for the warning it is and runs a soothing hand down Connor’s flank.

“Almost there, Connor. Stay with me for another minute and I’ll take care of you.” Anderson’s fingers card through his hair and Connor leans into the touch. He realizes with a start that he’s sweating lightly at the temples.

When Anderson murmurs, “There you go,” Connor drops to his heels. No answering sting reaches his chest and he glances up to see what Anderson had been doing. While the clamps are still on, they’re not pulled taut any longer.

“Thank you, sir,” Connor exhales the words. With his eyes closed, he doesn’t see Anderson’s predatory grin.

“So polite,” Anderson practically purrs the words as he reaches around to take Connor in hand once more. He’s embarrassingly hard and shivers beneath Anderson’s smoldering gaze, “Do you want to come, Connor? Do you want me to fuck you?”

Connor groans in response, teetering on the edge. Anderson slows his pace before relinquishing his grip altogether. Connor bucks at the sudden lack of touch, seeking sensation. Anderson’s fingers find his hair before pulling his head back to whisper harshly, “Ask me nicely, Connor.”

“_Please! _Sir, I’m being good. Please, touch me.” Anderson lets Connor ramble for a few seconds more before pressing his clothed erection against Connor’s ass.

Pulling at the clamps, Connor wails, frustrated and overcome. It’s the sound Anderson had been waiting for, “What do you need, Connor.”

“I want them _off_.” Anderson smirks; he’d anticipated as much, but he can’t help teasing Connor a moment longer.

“But you’re gorgeous like this. Hard nipples, pink cheeks, and a flushed dick—a perfect picture just for me. Every inch of you blushes so nicely.” Even as he says the words, he unlatches one of the clamps. Connor hisses and Anderson soothes away the ache before attending to the other.

Connor’s breathing is harsh and his head droops forward in relief. Even though he’s still fully erect, Anderson knows he’s dancing close to the outer edge of Connor’s limits. Reining the scene back in closer to Connor’s comfort zone, Anderson nibbles at the crook of Connor’s neck exactly how hard he likes it.

Taking him in hand, Anderson mouths his way up Connor’s neck to his ear, “So good for me.” Connor sucks in a sharp, high-pitched breath at the praise and Anderson lays on another reaffirming layer, “You’re doing well.”

Connor relaxes a few degrees and Anderson can feel Connor’s stress levels decrease. Once in comfortable territory, Anderson murmurs, “You beg so nicely, Connor. Convince me you deserve my cock.”

“Sir?” He can hear the trepidation in Connor’s tone and he makes a mental note not to push him too far.

“Ask me nice, sweetheart.” Anderson’s fingers glide over Connor’s hole as he says it and Connor’s will buckles at the contact. His mind races with mental images of Anderson tonguing him, fingering him, fucking him until he’s a gibbering mess. He wants it so badly he aches.

“Fuck, hnnnnnnk! Fuck, please. I’m being good! I need you, please. Please, touch me. I want _you_.” Once broken, Connor will ramble without ending until Anderson interrupts him. His pleading becomes more extravagant the longer Anderson lets it go on, languidly stroking his length all the while, “Please, fuck me open, spread me wide. Please, _sir_!” The final word comes out shrill as Anderson sinks in one finger to the first knuckle. It’s barely an intrusion but Connor keens, his body trembling with want.

“Please, Ha-Sir! Please. I can’t—no more—I need you.” Connor’s legs resume their trembling despite being on solid ground. Wrapping an arm around Connor’s waist, Anderson reaches up to disengage the restraints. Still spread at the ankles, Connor flexes his shoulders as his arms drop. Spinning him sharply, Anderson bends him over the bed, hinging him at the waist. Connor leans heavily on his torso while the bar keeps his legs spread wide, displaying him like a feast to devour.

“Beautiful,” Anderson says softly as his fingertips trace over every ridge of Connor’s spine. When his fingers dip low to sink into Connor’s needy hole, they’re slicked and slide in with ease. Connor’s entire body shudders at the first, full penetration and his knees try to give when Anderson presses against his prostate.

Under normal circumstances, Anderson would draw this process out as well. He loves to wring out every overwrought sound Connor can produce, but he’s approaching his own limits for denial. He wants to bury himself to the hilt over and over. He wants to soak in Connor’s broken wails and needy sobs for more. He wants to watch Connor shatter impaled on his cock and then pound into him to the point of ruin.

Judging by the sounds Connor makes, he wants those things, too. Spread wide, the angle and the pressure are different, more intense. He’s unbearably full, dancing at the precipice of orgasm. Anderson batters his prostate, growling his approval at Connor’s wailing. He screams Anderson’s name and shrieks his pleas for more when Anderson takes him in hand, his brutal strokes matching the vicious snap of his hips. By the time Connor tips over the edge, the only words he can say are _Hank_ and _please_.

Anderson fucks him through it, beyond it. Wrapped in Anderson’s arms, Connor knows he’s loved even as the man pounds into him like meat in need of tenderizing. Anderson’s fingers find his and Connor squeezes them tight as Anderson comes with a roar.

In the aftermath, Anderson cocoons around Connor like armor. Holding him close, he drums his fingers along Connor’s spine while twining their limbs together. Eventually, he leaves the room to make them both something to eat. He brings it back to bed, urging an exhausted Connor to eat various bites of cheeses, grapes, and small sandwiches.

“Feeling better?” Anderson asks the familiar question and Connor gives him a sleepy smile.

“Much,” he mumbles into the swell of Anderson’s stomach as he nuzzles into a more comfortable position.

Anderson clears his throat and Connor turns to peer up at him like a tired owl, “I wish you had told me sooner.”

Connor closes his eyes in a slow, heavy blink, “I know. There was…history there. I was embarrassed. And then it seemed to solve itself when I got the Detroit assignment.” Connor shrugs, “I didn’t want to bother you over nothing.”

Strong fingers grip at his chin and he cracks open one eye in acknowledgment. Anderson releases him in favor of stroking his hair, “You could never be a bother, and your wellbeing is certainly more than ‘nothing’.”

Connor makes a fond but exasperated sound but Anderson holds his gaze, “I mean it. Your successes, your setbacks, your struggles—they’re mine, too. Lean on me when you need to.”

Connor rises on tired limbs to press a kiss to Anderson’s cheek, “Ok.”

“Ok?” Anderson echoes back and Connor nods before they both shimmy down under the bedding to rest.

“So soft,” Connor murmurs as he presses his face into the meat of Anderson’s chest while tugging the blankets around him. He isn’t certain if Connor is referring to the comforter or Anderson himself. Curling protectively around Connor’s frame, he decides the answer doesn’t really matter.


End file.
